


rêve de minuit

by castironbaku



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Established Relationship, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castironbaku/pseuds/castironbaku
Summary: Yuuri loves this mysterious travelling circus, yet it is the circus illusionist that draws him in the most.(insp. "Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set against an early 20th century backdrop but it doesn't really make much of a difference except in the way Victor and Yuuri talk :)
> 
> this is dedicated to Claude (snarkygourmet) :')

The circus arrives without warning.

But Yuuri knows that it’s come. He wraps his scarf tightly around himself, breathing in the cold November air. He has a knack for knowing when and where the circus will be. Years and years of following it, of making it his life’s goal and dream, has somehow forged within him an irrevocable bond between his heart and the circus.

Or maybe it is the bond between his heart and the mysterious illusionist who had stolen it the first night he’d stolen into that black-and-white striped tent full of magic and things beyond explanation.

As he steps into the circus, the bustling crowd and the smell of chocolate-covered popcorn and caramel apples make him shiver with giddiness. He feels like he is finally home. The night has only just begun and already he is practically bursting at the seams with happiness. He tries to get himself to calm down by walking around some, buying a bag of chocolate treats shaped like books and fairies and other strange and whimsical things. He also has some of the special sweet black matcha that the circus served whenever they were in Japan.

He wanders around, dropping by a few other tents—fortune-teller is particularly chatty today. He can see her blue eyes glittering behind her black veil as she explains that he is “close to the beginning.” He doesn’t really understand what that meant, and of course, she isn’t going to explain either.

He also visits the acrobats and the lion tamers, clapping and gasping along with the crowd. The Hall of Mirrors reflects his excitement and the grin that keeps trying to split his face in two. The Ice Garden makes him smile because the fragile white flowers that seem like something out of a dream, only remind him of the illusionist.

Finally, the time has come. When the clock strikes twelve, the people gather at the illusionist’s tent for his first show of the night. Yuuri makes absolute sure that he sits not too near the front and not too far into the back. 

In the beginning, as always, the tent is absolutely dark and still, save for the audience, which is shifting around excitedly in their seats. Then, suddenly, something happens. It is different every night, but tonight, it is a pair of doves that flutters out of the middle of the audience. No one sees where they came from but no one cares. They watch the doves fly in what looks like a midair waltz—or whatever the bird-equivalent of a waltz is. The doves spiral around each other, dipping low, soaring high, but alway always, next to each other. Then they dive beak-first into the ground, bursting into downy feathers and pure white smoke from which the illusionist appears in a stark white suit latticed in black from waist down to his black leather shoes—looking like pure light slowly being encroached upon by shadows. His eyes gleam like ice as he smiles wordlessly at his audience.

Yuuri feels his heart skip a beat when the illusionist’s gaze seems to linger in his direction.

But then the connection is broken and gone and the illusionist is weaving figures from the white smoke around him, shaping it into horses that gallop along the ceiling of the tent, tiny figures in dresses and suits that dance alongside one another, weaving in and out of the audience, flower petals that drift down to the earth, only to melt into the ground or your skin, leaving a sweet smell and taste like clotted cream and honey.

After a few dozen tricks that no one can possibly ever explain without giving into imagination, the illusionist concludes his show. By this time, his suit has turned completely black, the dark fretwork finally taking over the pristine white and making his body melt into the darkness, leaving only his pale face floating in the gloom.

Then with a bow and a silent smile, the illusionist simply winks out of existence. One second here, and the next, gone. The audience claps in delight and begins to shuffle out of the tent.

Only Yuuri is left alone, waiting patiently where he sits, though inside his chest, his heart is pounding a steady, quick rhythm. 

Almost as if Yuuri wills him into existence, the illusionist appears in the seat in front of him. He turns around, a wide smile on his face.

“Yuuri,” he says happily. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” Yuuri says sheepishly. “I wouldn’t miss your shows for anything.”

“There was that one night in Barcelona—”

“There was a problem with the train I was on, you know that.” He makes a face at the illusionist who watches him with a beatific smile. Yuuri clears his throat. “You, erm… Would you like to look around the circus with me? Before your next show?”

“Only if you agree to call me by my name,” says the illusionist, raising one eyebrow coyly. “It’s not all that difficult to pronounce, is it?”

Yuuri feels blood rush to his cheeks. He loosens the scarf around his neck. “It’s not that hard…” He pauses, swallowing. The illusionist’s name is like a magic spell in his mind. He knows it’s silly to think that saying a spell one too many times weakens its power, but he doesn’t want to lose a drop of this one’s enchantment. Still, the look in those ice-blue eyes is enough to move him into saying what he prefers to keep to himself. “Will you spend the night with me, Vitya?”

The illusionist seems to shiver like an electric current has gone through him. He covers Yuuri’s fingers with his palm and the air around them seems to grow warmer. Already, Yuuri can feel himself coming undone.

“I would be delighted,” the illusionist—no, _Victor_ —says softly. “I’m terribly weak for any second spent with you, _solnyshko_.”

“You must be incapacitated most of the time, since I’m hardly ever here,” Yuuri laughs as Victor presses a kiss against his knuckles. “I wonder if it’s ever easy without me.”

Victor looks at him and when their eyes meet, Yuuri feels like he’s swallowed a mouthful of hot chocolate. The sensation of sweet warmth traveling down his chest to his stomach, and throughout his body, makes him too happy to smother the grin on his face.

“When did you learn to do that?” Yuuri asks quietly.

“The first time I realized I loved you,” Victor says. “The feeling wasn’t one I could ever forget. I only wanted you to know how it felt for me. If only for a moment.”

Yuuri feels a wave of fondness wash over him and he runs a thumb across Victor’s fingers. “It’s wonderful. It’s the most wonderful feeling.” He holds Victor’s hand in both of his now. “Where do you want to go first?”

It’s almost too warm now, but it is not a terrible feeling at all. Victor’s smile is as beautiful and magical as all his performances. “I will go anywhere,” he says, brushing his lips against Yuuri’s cheek, “so long as it’s with you.”


End file.
